


A Visit From Mr. Sandman

by PinkAfroPuffs



Series: Fate/Beautiful Forest Hobo [3]
Category: Fate/EXTRA, Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Dancing, Dream Sharing, F/M, Flashbacks, Mutual Pining, Sick Character, Smoking, yes it was obvious, yes that's about racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 03:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20037232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkAfroPuffs/pseuds/PinkAfroPuffs
Summary: If it's not a real Holy Grail War, why treat it like one?





	A Visit From Mr. Sandman

**Author's Note:**

> Shh. Just enjoy it........

Whatever touches Ifumi’s shin makes her jolt awake. It’s a scary kind of feeling; even though Chaldea is relatively clean, she isn’t unfamiliar with the concept of _ rats _ and bugs are always a constant worry for her. In fact, in a flurry of anxious energy, she fluffs her hair out, frantic to keep any from getting ideas about nesting there for even a moment. God, this is why she hates camping! There are always so many bugs after dark, and everything wants a taste of her!

She realizes quickly that she doesn’t have to worry, though. Whatever woke her up wasn't there now, even though it suddenly becomes clear that she’s woken up outside, against one of the trees in the surrounding area. Relief floods through her. She must’ve fallen asleep near Robin Hood again. Actually, that reminded her about the book she’d brought, and the little backpack just in case she got hungry but didn’t want to go inside-

Hm. Curious. Neither of those items happened to be on her person, regardless of how much she looked. She scoffed. Maybe Robin was messing with her again, or one of the other Servants had found her out here and thought to play pranks on her. "Hmph!" She’d show them!

She walked through the familiar area of the forest until she could see someone leaning against a tree nearby; from some reason it has gotten dark very quickly, and she feels relief when she spots him somehow, the moonlight gracing her with just enough visibility to make out the softness of his features. _ There _ he is! Before she can get too close, though, she realizes his hood is up, obscuring him from someone else’s view, and stays quiet.

There’s a bonfire before him, near a clearing just outside the village. He’s close enough to look at them, as far as she can tell, but far enough not to be seen by them. He blows out a little puff of air; for some reason, his breath shows when he does, though Ifumi doesn’t find it very cold out. 

“Ho! Stranger!” The voice sort of jolts Ifumi out of her skin. When she realizes the greeting isn’t aimed at her, but at Robin, she feels somewhat relieved. He doesn’t quite look like himself; his signature cloak is nowhere to be found, and he isn’t wearing green at all. Still, compared to many of the others present, he seems different, somehow. Ifumi wonders if the person calling to him thinks the same. “Are you as new to town as you look?”

Robin doesn’t answer at first. There’s something hesitant about his gaze, despite its friendliness. “Just passing through,” he lies through his teeth. She can only tell because of the slight twitch at one corner of his mouth. 

The man speaking to him is handsome, though Ifumi wonders if she only thinks so because he’s blonde and seems kind. “Well, if you’ve the time, would you care for a dance?” Then, a bit quickly, “I’m sure a lovely lady would enjoy having a handsome stranger on her arm.”

Robin shakes his head. “Not one for dancing, friend.” Then he points just past him, to a pretty young woman with jet black hair and dark eyes. “But that lovely maiden seems to be. Maybe she’d like some of your company instead.”

The young man seems hesitant to leave him; there’s something about Robin that feels off to him too, it seems, and he asks, “Have I met you before, friend?”

The bowman only crosses his arms, leaning ever so slightly to give the impression he’s thinking about it. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

He takes another glance at him, almost as if wondering the name will come to him. “Excuse me, then.”

Robin Hood’s gaze turns to the pair in a way that feels almost uncharacteristic of him. Then, very quietly, he slips away, though not so far to be out of earshot. Or maybe he tries to be, before someone begins banging a pot to call attention to the medium-sized crowd.

“I’ve a tale to tell.” When all is quiet, the voice continues, “They say Robin Hood protects our village.” There’s an elderly woman near the bonfire, and though a single couple is off to the side, dancing to music that no one else can hear, all other attendees are listening to her in rapt attention. “‘Tis why the soldiers let us keep the women in town.”

He’s stopped in his tracks. Too far to be seen by any of the partygoers, he’s safe to even look back, but doesn’t. Instead, he hesitates again. After a beat or two, he decidedly continues into the forest. Ifumi stays, though, to listen for a little while.

“If there _ is _ a Robin Hood,” someone murmurs off to the side, “he’s just making the soldiers pay more attention to us. When the Lord comes with his army, we aren’t going to be spared. We’ll be homeless!”

There’s some agreement amongst the crowd. The old woman seems indignant, though. “The Robin Hoods have protected this land for _ generations _! When our taxes were so unbearably high, they robbed carriages and gave to the poor! And now,” she insists, “he’s keeping enemy forces from burning this place to the ground!”

“I hear he’s just a changeling who felt bad about the family that got him,” someone snidely remarks. 

“I thought it was the ghost of a possessed man. Didn’t he eat children?”

More murmuring. There’s some dissention among the crowd, and suddenly the young lovers come back to the circle. They’re a good looking pair together. The woman, whose hair is a kind of black that no one else in the crowd has, speaks up. “She’s right. Robin Hood is doing is best, and you’re all talking about how he’s harming us. Two years ago, the Lord burned our crops without a second thought, but now he thinks twice with Robin Hood around.”

This time the mumbles and whispers are a bit more affirmative, which sort of pleases Ifumi. As though to cheer her more, the young man adds, “I’m sure there’s a Robin Hood. I’ve seen him.” 

Ifumi’s gaze flickers to Robin, who has climbed into a tree nearby, taking care of something for whatever work he’s preparing to do tonight- a rope, for instance, is in his grasp, wrapped partially around his hand. Though he doesn’t react at first, hearing he’s been _ seen _ renders him still as a statue. 

“Whatever, John.” Snarks a naysayer. “You still believe in Father Christmas.”

While they heckle the blonde, Robin Hood has set to his work more diligently than before. Now that he’s secured the ropes for whatever reason, he begins to whisper something at the little lightning bugs around his person.

There are rings under his eyes that she isn’t used to seeing; tinged with red and a hint of black, something about his complexion comes off as paler than usual, the breaths puffing ever so often in the air in front of him. Suddenly, and quietly, he moves; without even sparing a glance at her, he begins travelling deeper into the forest, almost searching for something. Intrigued- and somewhat worried- she follows, wondering if she can offer him something to help. When he stops, it’s near the river, where he crouches and begins speaking to those little balls of light again.

“Pick out a nice tree for me.”

The only words she can glean concern her, but she stays silent. 

“Can’t do this much longer,” he says, much like answering a question she hasn’t heard asked. He rummages around in his pack for something and finds his cigarettes- something dawns on her then, upon seeing it, as it isn’t the kind she’s used to seeing him use- strikes a match to light it, and takes a long drag from it. The little balls of light move away from him then, leaving him alone by the river in the dark. Then he coughs, eyes closing as he runs his fingers through his hair, flipping back the bangs that usually fall over one of his eyes as he does. 

He stands, then, leaning back just slightly with the cigarette in his mouth as he exhales. When he’s had enough, he takes it out, snufs the flame, and tucks the remains in a different pack on his person. 

A whistle sounds in the distance, somewhere far from the bonfire and the festivities. With a firm tug, he pulls on his signature cloak and puts up the hood, still stifling some of his coughs into his sleeve. “Time to work.”

*****

“Senpai, you’ve slept in too late.”

Mash is nudging her awake again. She thought this old habit died when she started setting alarms with Chaldea’s personal system, but it seems that Roman has decided that Mash is a much better substitute. 

“Huh? I what?” Ifumi rubs her eyes a little too hard, leaning back on the pillows so heavily that a part of her elbow starts going numb. “When did I get back in here?” Actually, her head kind of hurts. Curses. Usually she thought Mash was overreacting, but it sounded like she really had slept in. 

“You’ve been in your room all night, Senpai.” Mash informs her. “Sleeping like the dead.”

She gawks at her for a moment, then holds her tongue, for fear of saying something she shouldn’t. Then her hands are rummaging underneath her bed for her manual on Master-Servant relationships and side effects of the contract. “...sleep...dreaming…” There it is. The entry she needed.

She gulps.

It was true, then. Masters and Servants often share dreams with one another. This was the first time it had happened to her, and truly, a part of her sort of wishes it hadn’t. Complicated feelings roll around in her stomach, and then her chest, just before she says, “Okay Mash, I’m up now. I’m going to get dressed.”

“Oh- Right, yes.” She nods, then makes a hasty exit. Ifumi’s a little relieved. Now she can deal with the weird nauseous feeling in her throat.

If she’d been in Robin Hood’s dream, wasn’t that a little invasive? Was that really something she should be allowed to see? Nobody told her that the summoning contracts could feel so icky, or so sad. 

Another thought strikes her like lightning. Did he _ know _ she’d seen his dream?

Her hands fly to her mouth. Should she apologize? No, that wouldn’t be right. Maybe he didn’t know, and besides, it wasn’t her fault-

Oh, but the bonfire! And all those rude people…! She dragged her hands down her face. That was a _ horrible _ thing to see! 

Before realizing what she’s doing, her legs are dragging her to the cafeteria (or maybe it’s her stomach, since it’s a bit late now) in such a hurry that she runs straight into someone. 

_ Please don’t be Robin Hood, please don’t be Robin Hood. _

It’s not Robin Hood. It’s Gawain, or, more precisely, Gawain’s back. It seems to be a good thing he doesn’t wear his armor in the mornings, because Ifumi is almost sure she would’ve broken her nose if he’d been wearing it this time. “Ow.”

“Good morning, Master,” bright as always, he seems to be wide awake- but most Servants are. They don’t need to sleep, but many like to. She’s unsure if Gawain is the former or the latter. “Am I in the way?”

“No,” she pats one of his exposed arms. “You’re just big.”

He laughs a little at her assessment. “I’m told that, yes. Are you sick at all?”

She waves her hand. “Oh, no. Just slept in because of…” Her eyes dart away from him. “Something.” Then, “Can I ask you something?”

He gives her the kind of smile she’s become accustomed to. “Ask away.”

“...have you…” It feels like a delicate thing to ask. “Have you ever shared a dream with someone before? Like your...Master or something?”

“I have indeed,” he nods. “Is there something wrong?”

“Well-” She covers her mouth, slowly lowering her hand as the forms the words, “If you...when you...I mean when you did that, or it happened, didn’t you feel a little...I don’t know, violated?”

He searches her eyes for a moment. Then, “No.”

“No?” The answer surprises her. 

“No,” he repeats, though slowly enough to show he’s thinking about how to phrase it, “but I am very open about my life. I imagine not all Servants feel this way.”

She’s nodding as she thinks about it. Robin Hood would _ not _ like knowing that. Or maybe he did already know, like she feared. “...did you _ know _ it was happening?”

“Not the first time,” he admits. “The second time, though. My Master made himself apparent. It was…” His eyebrows wrinkle a little bit. “Jarring, to say the least. Many memories take the form of dreams for Servants. To see my Master from ‘now’ in a time that was ‘then’...a little upsetting, to say the least. But it wasn’t a personal offense. The magic that binds us…” He trails off for a moment, relaxing just slightly, as though he’s aware of something. “It works in strange ways.”

“...you sound ominous.” She whispered.

“Do I?” This seems to fluster him a little bit. 

“You do. Like a seer or a witch.” She wrinkles her nose at him.

“I don’t have the qualifications for either,” he informs her, which makes her snort. 

“Not yet, you mean,” she winks, but then she smiles at him. “...thanks, though. For...that. This is a little…” Her fingers tangle in the curls near the nape of her neck. “Stranger than I expected.” He nods some, though she pats his shoulder and moves past him. “I’m going to get some food. I’m late for training already.”

“Good luck today, Master,” he calls after her. “And try the fish! It’s considered good for your brain!”

* * *

When she runs into Robin Hood later that day, it’s on purpose. She’s finally brewed one of the potions that will help enhance his abilities and needs to deliver it to him. Besides, she feels she has to speak with him about the night before. “Robin?”

He’s napping in the trees again. The sight makes her stop in her tracks; his profile from the dream is eerily similar to now, though his complexion is less uneven, and though he still looks tired, there’s no discoloration under his eyes. After taking a little breath, she calls up to him again. “Archer!”

He opens his one uncovered eye at her. “Yeah, Master?”

“Come down, please. I’ve got something for you.”

In a single bound, he slips down from the tree with a little _ hup _ and nods to her. “What’s up?”

“I want you to drink this.” She shakes the little jar. “It’s to enhance your abilities.”

“Oh, _ I _ see,” he drawls. “You decided to do it after all. Well, bottoms up.” He downs it much quicker than she expects him to (she was at least expecting him to gripe about it), though he does hiss and tell her, “Whew! Tastes like rabbit piss.”

“It’s not supposed to taste like _ candy _,” she reminds him. “How do you feel? Any different?”

He gives her a tiny grin before closing his eyes and tilting his head away from her. “Nope. Just feel like boring old Robin Hood.”

She wants to tell him that he’s spectacular, but she knows he won’t believe her, so she stops short. “Not even a tingle?”

“If I twitch my nose,” he teases. “...but I do feel a little energetic. Still think it isn’t a good idea, but,” he rubs his nose, “not bad.”

For some reason the words make her chest feel warm, her insides suddenly less like the inside of a washing machine and more like crackling wood on a campfire. Her brain jumps from campfires and then back to him; her mouth pulls at one corner as she thinks about it, and after a moment passes, she asks, “Hey...do you dance at all?”

His eyebrows go up a little bit. “Do I _ what _?”

“Like to dance,” she asks again, this time a bit more flippantly. “I dunno, I just feel like you’re the kind of person who might want to learn but is too chicken to try.”

He frowns, but only a little. Then, he smiles. “You think calling me chicken will get me to do whatever you want, hm?”

“No,” she lies. “But I think, if there’s things you wanna do before the world ends and you never have to see it again, you should do them. So you don’t regret anything.”

The smile doesn’t change, but his eyes do. He’s got that stubborn expression on his face, and she realizes it doesn’t matter if she knows more about him now. He’s always going to be stubborn about everything. Maybe that’s why they get along so well. “Alright, Master. Whatever you say.”

* * *

It’s interesting to have another dream the next night, same setting, same time of day, but since Ifumi has been through this before, it’s less jarring than the first time. She walks, this time with the intention of speaking to Robin Hood, but once she finds him, he’s sitting near the campfire. 

The atmosphere is different this time. He doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere, and though she can spot some familiar faces from the dream before, many of the partygoers are different. She can’t help wondering if something has changed- or rather, if she simply missed something from the night before.

None of the people present try to talk to him. More than this, Ifumi notes that they don’t shoo him away, despite some treating him with suspicion; indifference or maybe _ tolerance _ wafts through her nose like smoke from his cigarettes, too thick to put up without saying something, but not so offensive that she’d throw a fit. Before she realizes it, she’s approaching him in a hurry, forgetting what Gawain said to her, including some of her own anxieties about the matter.

She starts to call out to him, but stops. None of the other guests seem to notice her, and suddenly she wonders if he will. Hesitant, she takes a little step back, though by now she’s too close to leave quietly.

Her heart leaps straight out of her chest when he turns his head; illuminated by the fire, his profile looks less tired than the last dream, though a lazy sort of smile tugs at one corner. “Oh, hey Master. Fancy meeting you here.”

She wants to apologize. Her fingers curl into little fists and she holds them at her side, and for a moment, she’s frozen in place. Unfazed, he pats the dirt beside him and she sighs. There’s not much left to do besides comply, since waking up prematurely would just be bad for her health. “Sorry.” She murmurs. “I didn’t mean to...come.” An exhale. “I didn’t know Master and Servants share dreams sometimes.”

“Mm,” he nods, somewhat good-natured. “Well, it was bound to come up. I take a _ ton _ of naps,” he whistles.

“Too many,” she chides, and he smiles, but he won’t look at her. “...Robin. I-”

“Worrying about me’s gonna kill you if you keep this up,” he chides in return, then pulls out a smoke, though after taking a glance at her wrinkling nose, he politely puts it back. “All this stuff is just smoke and mirrors, anyway.” There’s something _ missing _ when he says that, and she can’t help wondering what. 

She recalls her own life before Chaldea, considers the expressions of the people and their attitudes toward him- toward her, too, in her own life- and then shakes her head. “It’s too accurate to really be gone.”

His drapes an arm over one of his legs and looks at her. “You sound pretty serious, Master.”

“Only a little.” She shrugs, then hugs her knees. “I know some things, you know. Everyone knows some things.”

This seems to amuse him as he leans back, palms to the ground as he hums. “I guess so.” 

Being near him gives her more peace of mind than the night before; she’s begun to realize that seeing him as an outsider makes her remember what the world was like outside of Chaldea. It makes her heart burn for the closeness of the crowds that won’t come near him- she knows they’re only united in hating him, after all, and it forms a bond that becomes hard to break. Experimentally, she reaches out to him; when her fingers brush against the special woven fibers of his cloak, she sort of gasps, which amuses him just a little more. “Shh, don’t laugh at me!” She can’t help sounding a little defensive about it, despite the calmness that settles over her when he smiles. “Before I didn’t even know I could touch you.” 

“Well, now you do,” he leans back a little, reclining further back and laying on his side. She can’t help wanting to push his hair away from his eyes so she can see them better. “Thinking of taking advantage of that?”

She purses her lips, and a part of her wants to nudge him again, but that would almost prove his point. Before she can think up a proper comeback, music begins to play from the far side of the bonfire, and people begin breaking off in pairs. It must be that time of night again; Ifumi isn’t sure what kind of festival this is, but it seems to be following similar patterns from the one before. “Oh, they’re starting up again,” she murmurs, and unwittingly feels a pang of loneliness in her gut.

“I feel like I missed out on these before everything went haywire too,” she admits after a moment. “I thought they were stupid.”

He looks on in interest. “Mm. Having fun’s only stupid when you aren’t having it, right?”

She laughs. “Probably, yeah.” Things are more important than dances or sitting out with friends after dark. Then she sighs. “....maybe we’re even more alike than I thought, Robin.”

“Well, I guess that’s it, then.” Lazily, Robin rolls to his feet and stretches, and she can’t help but think he’s going to tell her he’s off to take a nap. Instead, he gives her the shock of her life by gesturing to her with his hand and saying, “You probably wanna dance, don’t you?”

Her mouth opens so wide she’s sure she’d catch flies if they were really in the forest right now. “Wh-” She’s grateful for her dark skin. The blood pooling under her cheeks might not be as visible as some others, and at least she could hide behind the facade of playing it cool. “Why would you think- I can’t dance!” She says instinctively. Embarrassment from her own stifled youth comes back to bite her. “I’m not good at it. Besides you-” She wanted to say he told her he didn’t dance, but that would be wrong. “...made it seem like you didn’t like to dance.”

He shrugs, though he seems a little like he’s thoroughly enjoying her embarrassment. “I dunno. Lately I’ve been _ hounded _ by some wimp who doesn’t like camping,” her mouth closes at the admission, “about enjoying myself. Sounds dumb, I know.” He touches his nose with his thumb, the crooked smile crackling across his face just enough to make her think he’s being serious. “World’s ending again. Might as well give it a go.”

Her gaze falls to his outstretched hand wiggling its fingers at her, though when she looks up at him again, he’s partially angled away from her, his expression partially hidden by the dark side of the campsite. 

It’s funny. It was her idea for him to enjoy any second chances he might have at living his life, but it seems she’s forgotten that she needs to, too. In the most careful of gestures, she places her hand on his and he hoists her to her feet (this, too, makes her a bit flustered; she’s forgotten that he may not be as physically strong as Gawain, but he's no scrub). “Okay. But when I step on your feet…” She warned.

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, but his hands feel warm to the touch. Even against the harsh lighting of the fire, his face looks a little red. It gives her some semblance of comfort to know he’s just as nervous, even though it’s just a dream and there’s no real risk to trying. 

Dreams are often much shorter and much longer than supposed; despite feeling they’d danced only for a few moments, a buzzing sound signals a time to part. She tries to protest, but no matter how hard she tries, her eyes won’t stay closed; irritated, she sits up in bed and squints at the ceiling. Her scarf has fallen off in her sleep, meaning her hair is going to look a little bit wild, but that doesn’t bother her. What bothers her is the premature ending to what felt like a date- and to top it off, it feels like she’s been out all night! 

“Ugh, it’s like Cinderella….” She rubs her face, then grudgingly throws herself out of bed to wash her face and brush her teeth. Mid-way she realizes what her remark actually sounds like and accidentally gets herself in the eye with some soap. It takes quite a bit of patience and water to get it out, and by the time she’s decent enough to go to the cafeteria for breakfast, she’s on a miniature war path, stomping down the hall and ready to find a training dummy to beat on. 

She stops. When was the last time she’d gotten tired because of something outside of battle? 

Her fingers tangle in her hair a little. For a moment, her eyes close, wistful as she remembers the melody of makeshift instruments around a campfire. She hums it to herself and supposes that it’s no real loss. Some things are simply worth losing sleep for.


End file.
